This is a true story. I know it’s true because it happened to me.

For a while, a couple of decades ago, I owned a funky little beach house and a parcel of land in a cove near St. John, Antigua. It was a very private place in a very exotic paradise. The cove was protected from passers by on land and by a gorgeous living reef in the bay.

I used to go there to write 2-3 times a year for a month or so at a time and wrote a number of musicals there and many songs that always seemed to come out with a distinctively Caribbean flavor. It was an idyllic time I shall never forget.

Because of the incredible beauty of the reef, the clarity and warmth of the water and the shallowness of the cove, we would always spend a great deal of our free time snorkeling.

We often went out once or twice a day and I got to know the reef like my own back yard. Actually it was my own back yard, or perhaps better, God’s back yard.

While exploring, we would often come across some pretty large fish. At those times fear was a factor because even though we were well equipped with masks, snorkels and fins and were good swimmers, the fish had it all over us in the water. It was always dramatically clear that any large fish that we encountered could have his way with us at any time he chose.

And so we reasoned that our only protection really, was to love the fish. So each time we went into the water, we all took a moment to stop and get our minds clear that we really loved the fish. We would practice this every day. It was not hard actually. They were all amazing creatures, each with their own individual beauty and grace.

I, personally, got so good at this fish loving that I had to stop fishing and never have been able to fish since. It just became antithetical to my understanding.

One gorgeous day I was on the beach alone, sunning. I had fallen asleep under the hot noonday sun and woke up mouth dry and body sweat wet. Since we were a very private cove, one did not have to necessarily wear a suit if one so chose, so when I woke up parched and hot I grabbed my old faded yellow beach towel and headed for the water. Somehow, when swimming naked in the ocean, that towel always made me feel just a little more protected in the water and modest if someone were to happen to come along and I had to get out.

I wrapped the towel around my waist and walked into the water far enough so that the water came up to my waist. As I stood in the clear blue-green water with the sun pouring down on me, I was about as happy and contented as I’d ever been. I looked down into the water and there was a school of minnows that had collected around me. They would sometimes do this in their curiosity or perhaps their love of my suntan lotion. I began to study them as they swam.

It was amazing how they all would be going one way together and then suddenly all change course at once and go in a group the other way. Who was sending the signal? Which fish was the leader?  Did they all have fish headphones and fish walkie-talkies? How did they know?

I stood fascinated and watched them in their choreographed dance for several long minutes and the more I watched, the more I appreciated their timing and grace and communication – and the more I loved the fish. For whatever reason, being alone, having just woken up from sleep, being at home with these splendid creatures, that day I became riveted on these fish and experienced them like never before.

While I watched and loved, suddenly I noticed that around me had also gathered another school of fish, each about  3-4 inches long. I have no idea what kind they were, but they were silver and, you might even call them ‘cute’.

The minnows (about an inch long) were closest to me and as the circle expanded, the ‘cute’ little 3 inchers swam around the outside of the minnows in about a six foot radius around me. They did not mix. They kept to their own territory and stayed together each in their separate families or schools, but all began to circle around me.

I was dumbstruck, elated, thrilled, and in awe of the moment all at the same time. I put both arms out to the sides of me and carefully placed both hands gingerly into the water fingers first. I could feel the 3 inchers brush past my fingers as they swam ‘round and round. Then they began breaking the water and splashing in the otherwise calm of the ocean.

They were playing with me! I began to love them more. How could I possibly not? I did not move an inch. My feet were planted in the sandy ocean floor, my faded yellow towel still wrapped around my waist. I wanted to hold this moment in time forever.

This went on for several minutes – enough time for me to know absolutely that these guys were not just passing by, this was not just some happenstance – they had absolutely come to play.

And then into the cove, as if drawn by some joyous energy, swam a school of blue nosed gar (6-8 inches in length). They simply joined us, expanding the circumference of our circle to about 10 yards out. They too began to swim ‘round and round, leaping into the air as if to take a peak at this weird human who was by then crazed, awestruck and totally in love with the fish.

I felt no fear. I remember thinking that I was way out of my league here and that I needed to be careful and super sensitive to the moment, but I was never afraid, only respectful and totally involved in this magical, once-in-a-lifetime moment.

This went on for another couple of minutes or so – the minnows closest, then the silver 3 inchers and finally the blue nosed gar – literally hundreds of fish swimming in circles around me. I believe they were simply drawn to my love for them and the more they swam, the more I loved, and the more I loved, the more they swam – and so on.

They did not eat one another. They did not eat me. They did not mix with one another. They respected me. After all, I was man, the fisher man. And I respected them. So we all got over our fear that day and connected somehow as we played together there off the coast of Antigua.

I don’t know why I did what I did next, but it just came to me that I should try to swim with them. I slowly unclasped the towel from around my waist and even more slowly lowered the rest of my body into the water up to my chin.

Then I slipped the towel off, pushed off of the ocean floor and pulling the outstretched towel along behind me in the water, I began to sidestroke through the water. The old faded yellow towel undulating behind me in the water as I swam was like a six foot yellow fish and I became the Pied Piper.

I swam, and as if transfixed on the towel, they all began to follow.  I swam for the next 5-7 minutes around the cove, the head of a fish parade. They never tried to pass me and I could see them splashing and frolicking up to ten to thirty yards back.

At a certain point, (who was watching the clock?) they all either got bored, hungry or just needed to do whatever fish need to do, and they moved on, leaving me alone with my towel, alone with my thoughts and memories of that magical time out of time.

I have told this story many times over the years. I’m glad to have finally written it down. If asked, I’d have to place it in the top 3 experiences of my life. I learned more about love that day than I had ever learned with another human being.

We, the fish and I, were careful with each other, respected each other, were certainly curious about each other and, I think, fell deeply in love – I know I did. Maybe they, in their natural innocence, were just playing. I don’t know.

But I do know this: It’s a true story. It happened to me. It’s as vivid today as it was back then, decades ago. It’s proof of things far beyond what we think of as the norm. I shall never tire of trying to understand it more deeply. It is the meeting of minds and souls.  It is the oneness of all God’s creatures. It is the grand possibility brought into focus.

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and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.